The Cost of Chivalry
by BeTrueToThyself
Summary: His Shinigami badge left behind, Ichigo faces off against a human gang in order to save a stranger. But what will the real cost be for his gallantry? Dry humor. One-shot. Some Ichigo bashing, both figuratively and literally.


A/N: I finally got something done! Whoo-hoo! I had to take some time out to write this. I needed this website to reflect my new obsession. But I'm still working on the other ones. I promise. Just very slowly. I hope the ending of this, at least, is better than some of my others... But you didn't come here to listen to my opinion! So go ahead and read.

**The Cost of Chivalry**

**

* * *

**"If We Must Die" by Claude McKay1

If we must die, let it not be like hogs,  
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,  
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,  
Making their mock at our accursed lot.  
If we must die, O let us nobly die,  
So that our precious blood may not be shed  
In vain; then even the monsters we defy  
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!  
O kinsmen! Let us meet the common foe.  
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,  
And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow.  
What though before us lies the open grave?  
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,  
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back.

* * *

Ichigo dashed out the clinic door with Yuzu wailing behind him, "But what about your breakfast?"

The disheveled, rumpled teenager yelled over his shoulder, "Sorry, Yuzu! No time!" He dashed down the deserted sidewalk, the school bag in his hand flopping against his legs.

He came to a breathless stop two blocks over at his and Rukia's usual morning meeting place. (No one was supposed to know that she slept in his closet, after all.) "Hey," he panted, hastily – and futilely – running a hand through his mussed orange hair and yanking his wrinkled shirt straight.

Rukia, arms folded, raised an eyebrow at him. "Let's go, Ichigo."

As she turned, he fell into hurried step beside her. The teen grumbled, "I can't believe you didn't wake me up."

Rukia smirked up at him. "But you looked so peaceful, Ichigo!" she crooned innocently. He scowled. She grinned and then straightened her face. "No, seriously, Ichigo, you look exhausted. Are you really okay?"

Ichigo harrumphed. "Of course. As if a few bumps and scratches would be a problem." Rukia sighed and shook her head.

Last night at some ungodly hour, a particularly fierce Hollow woke them with its singular scream just outside the house. The two immediately leapt out of their body/gigai and hopped out of the window after it. A little sluggish with sleep yet, in the darkness Ichigo reacted an instant too late to the Hollow's sweeping claws. Its huge hand slammed the Substitute Shinigami into the wall of the house. Zangetsu bit deep into the three-fingered hand, but the creature roared with insane laughter as Ichigo slid down and slumped at the base of the wall. The robes across his chest darkened with a blooming flower of black blood. Rukia, on the verge of panic, hurdled into the air behind the Hollow and plunged Sode no Shirayuki deep into its skull. It shrieked and dissipated into reishi-thin air.

Rukia bolted to his side. "Ichigo!" She gripped his shoulder. He grunted and slowly raised his tousled head. He glared blearily at her. She let out a shaky breath of relief and sheathed her Zanpakuto. She shook her head and let out a wry laugh as she slung his left arm over her shoulders. "Baka," she muttered.

"Hey!" he protested. When she staggered upright, though, it felt like she yanked him to his feet. His eyes widened and he groaned. He clenched his fist in the wet robes at his chest. The two of them swayed.

"Oi, Ichigo!" Rukia cried.

"No, no, it's fine," he murmured, forcing himself to drop his hand. "Just a little dizzy."

Rukia's face grew skeptical, but she didn't say anything. Once they were up to his room again, she performed what healing kidou she knew. It was enough to stop the bleeding and knit the tissue together, but he was still left more than bruised.

Rukia and Ichigo rushed along the sidewalk in companionable silence for a time before Ichigo stopped dead. Rukia kept going a few steps before she realized he wasn't beside her. The short Shinigami turned to the sight of his frustrated face. "Ichigo?"

He let his hand drop from its tight grip on his orange hair. He heaved a deep breath and reluctantly admitted, "I left my Shinigami badge at home." Ichigo braced for the inevitable outburst.

"WHAT?" Rukia screeched. She snatched a fistful of his shirt – careful to grab only fabric and not tender flesh – and yanked his face down to hers. "Ichigo, how could you do that? Don't you know how important it is?"

Ichigo gripped her fist and tried to straighten out of such close proximity to a raging Rukia. "Of course I know!" he protested.

She released him abruptly. As he staggered, she fumed to herself, "I _knew_ I shouldn't have stopped carrying my glove!"

Ichigo tried vainly to smooth the new folds in his clothes from her fists. He gave up with a frustrated sigh. "Sorry. Look, I'll just go back and grab it. It won't take any time at all." He gave her his back, lifting a dismissive hand. "Go on without me."

Rukia snorted and folded her arms. "Yeah, right. You're too much of an idiot. Last night proved it. I'm going with you."

He whirled. "I don't need a babysitter!" His face changed from outrage to triumphant slyness as he drawled, "Besides, wouldn't it be too suspicious if we both show up to school late? At the same time?" He quirked an eyebrow at her – he knew how important her "cover" was to her.

She glared at him, defeated (for once). "Oh, all right. Just hurry up."

Ichigo grinned, whirled, and dashed back the way they came. Rukia continued to school, grumbling half-heartedly to herself.

As Ichigo skidded around a corner at a flat-out run, a female suddenly cried out in fear from somewhere in front of him. The sound was oddly muffled and surprisingly quiet in the twilight of early morning. Ichigo's eyes widened and he halted, trying to quiet his breathing. The voice squealed again, allowing him to pinpoint its location.

Ichigo tensed and leapt toward it. The wall to his left fell away, revealing a dark, shadowed alley.

"No!" she wailed into the hand pressed against her mouth. The words were barely distinguishable. "Please don't! God, please don't do this!" A young, beautiful woman was pressed against the dirty maroon brick by three thugs. Behind them, four more cheered and yelled taunts, laughing at her futile pleas.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed and locked on the back of the scrawny man closest to him – one of the three holding the woman. The man in the center of that trio ripped open the top of her low-cut, blue dress. She screamed into the thick-veined hand.

With a high roundhouse kick, Ichigo knocked his first target to the ground. The thug with his hands down the woman's torn dress whipped his head toward the newcomer. The teenager aimed a low kick toward the side of the man's left knee. It crunched and buckled, wrenching an angry, surprised scream out of him. He toppled to the pocked asphalt, clutching his wound.

Out of the corner of Ichigo's right eye, he saw a fist rocketing toward his head. He dodged at the last moment; the ringed knuckle scraped a glancing blow to Ichigo's right temple, and a thin trickle of blood began to seep down.

Hanging onto the woman's left arm was one last startled man whom Ichigo punched square in the jaw. The man's head snapped to the side; an eyebrow ring glinted silver. A fast kick to the gut dislodged the man's grip, and he doubled over.

Sensing the thugs closing in around them, Ichigo screamed at the woman, "Run!" Wide-eyed and bloodied, clutching her dress to her chest, she only stared at him. "RUN!" She turned and fled. Several men cursed and snatched at her, but she tore away. Two made to go after her; Ichigo dashed over and swept their legs out from beneath them. Then he took a defensive crouch, hands out and ready.

"You little shit!" a voice spat. Ichigo heard the words but couldn't spare any attention beyond a glance: the man with the broken knee was already – shockingly – standing on one leg, one arm braced across another's shoulders. Ichigo scowled; he thought with absolute certainty he'd taken care of that one, if any. But he had no time to be thinking about that – someone was aiming a side kick toward his stomach. He caught the foot with his left hand, pummeling the man's face with his right and pulling the leg high enough to yank his supporting foot out. The teen slammed a kick into the guy's midsection. Then Ichigo whirled away, the man's moans falling away behind him.

A bear of a man chose that moment to close in on Ichigo's left with a roar. The teenager dodged, ducking under the other's meaty arm and lunging with a brutal jab to the underside of the guy's jaw. The thug's chin snapped shut and he staggered back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Then a blow landed on the back of Ichigo's thigh, registering only as a mere annoyance. The teenager growled as he jerked his right elbow behind him into a face conveniently within range. The man cried out and fell back, both hands on his streaming nose. Then Ichigo blocked a front punch from someone on his left, winding his arm around his opponent's to hold him in place. With the heel of his other hand, Ichigo rammed this guy's nose, too. He let the man fall.

Ichigo's heart pounded with adrenaline and fear that mingled with exhilaration. His heightened senses caught (sometimes strange) details in crisp clarity. _One mistake, and it's all over_, he thought to himself. _Don't let down your guard. They'll be all over you – seven to one. _Panting, he dripped in sweat. His forehead glistened with it. The warm trail of blood beside his right eye sometimes flung out scarlet droplets as he spun toward an attack.

A baseball bat whirled through the air on the edges of Ichigo's sight. He hastily jumped backward to get out of the way of the giant's controlled flailing. As the man continued to swing and the Substitute Shinigami darted backward, Ichigo's brown eyes widened as he stumbled over someone's outstretched arm. The bat sailed toward him again. He couldn't dodge! He flung up his arms to block the overhead blow, but the huge man suddenly grinned with a flash of blood-smeared, jagged teeth and flipped direction. The heavy wood smashed right into Ichigo's chest injury. The teenager toppled back; his back slammed into the cracked pavement. His neck corded with the effort to prevent his head from hitting, too. The man swung again; adrenaline flooded over the teen's pounding pain. Ichigo rolled to the side and leapt to his feet – moving noticeably slower than before.

An instant later, a tall, slender man whipped his right foot toward the back of Ichigo's head. It connected with a hard, solid thud. The teen dropped his knees, furiously blinking to get his eyes to focus. Ichigo suddenly felt a fist to his left cheek and then a flaming pain. He cried out.

Then something hard – harder than flesh – slammed into his lower back, knocking the wind out of him. He barely caught himself from sprawling with a hand jolted to the ground. His mouth fell open, but he had no air to give tongue to the anguish and shock. Someone jerked Ichigo's left arm behind his back and wrenched it high. Pain shot through his twisted joints, but an instant later, Ichigo heard an ominous pop from his shoulder. He somehow found enough breath to scream. The man released him, and he flopped to the asphalt.

Disbelief and shock poured through his veins. How could he fail like this? Even seven to one, they were just **humans. **A vicious kick to the ribs made him gasp. He had to get up and he had to do it **now**_._ He couldn't live with himself otherwise – dislocated shoulder, chest wound and all. They didn't matter. Couldn't matter. He slid his right arm up beside his shoulder and slowly began to lever himself up.

"Fujikage-sama!" someone called worriedly. "No, let us take care of the brat! You're injured."

"Shut up!"

Ichigo flipped his head to his right. The man with the broken knee was being assisted toward the teen. Ichigo propped himself up on a knee, clasping his wounded arm to his side.

Fujikage and the other man stopped in front of the kneeling teen. The boy's defiant glare infuriated him. He reached out and seized the teen's dislocated shoulder, grinding it. Ichigo hissed and gritted his teeth, determined not to give the man the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. As his gaze fell, it landed on an unbelievably open opportunity: Ichigo slammed his right fist into Fujikage's injured joint. The man shrieked and let go of Ichigo to flop onto the ground, flailing like a upturned turtle.

A sudden, blinding pain erupted on the side of Ichigo's head and he finally collapsed face-first in an unconscious heap.

The giant man let the bat drop to his side with a sneer. Done glaring, he rushed over to his leader and kneeled beside Fujikage. In a rumbling bass, he asked, "Are you okay, Fujikage-sama?"

"You fool, does it look like I'm okay?" the man bellowed. Fujikage slowly sat up, curling around his knee. "Damn it," he whispered savagely. He glanced up, locking his black gaze on orange hair slicked down with blood. With a jerk of his head, he demanded, "Sakamoto, get me over there." The huge man nodded and set down the bat. He slid a thick arm around Fujikage's shoulders and swung him into the air, setting him down gently on his feet. The smaller man clung, cursing under his breath, for a long moment, before they shuffled over to the unconscious teen. The others bowed back out of the way.

Fujikage let Sakamoto take all his weight as he lifted both legs into the air, kicking Ichigo in the side. The body wobbled with the blow. Fujikage grinned. He let the blows rain down until he panted with the exertion. He raised his triumphant gaze and announced, "We're done here."

With assenting nods, the troupe of seven hobbled off, leaving behind a beaten body in the slowly brightening alley.

* * *

The meticulously groomed, stylish businessman checked his watch impatiently before glancing back up at the stubbornly persistent "Don't Walk" light. He sighed, letting his shoulders slump. The cars streaming past him seemed endless. Surely he was already late, forced to make a detour past that blockaded street. God knew why they had to block it off on today of all days, but they did, almost as if they were personally out to get him.

Finally, the light changed. He leapt into action with long, confident strides. Just a few more blocks through this residential area, and he could cut back to his normal route and still hopefully catch the 7:00 bus. He just had to hurry, that was all.

Rushing past the alley's head, he almost didn't notice the flash of orange. He halted, certain for a moment that he'd really seen it. He looked around in confusion. There was nothing orange anywhere – so what was it that he thought he saw? _I'm overworked_, he thought. _That's it. They run us like dogs at the office, so it's no wonder._

But then he saw the orange flash again. He squinted into the dim alley. What **was** that? The shapeless shadows abruptly coalesced before his eyes into the form of a body. He dropped his gleaming briefcase, scuffing it on the concrete.

He bolted toward the body, falling to his knees beside it. He shook it, yelling, "Oi! OI! Are you okay?"

The boy – and it was quite obviously a boy, now that he was beside him – didn't answer. He didn't respond in any way.

Terror pulsed through the businessman. _Is he... dead?_ He shook his head furiously. _No! No, his chest is moving. _ He scrambled for his cell phone, digging through all the pockets in his suit. He nearly cried when his hands came up empty.

The briefcase! He ran toward it, clumsily yanking it open with shaking hands. He snatched up his phone out of the well-organized folders and pockets, flipping it open and dialing.

"Yes!" he cried. "I found a boy in an alley, and he's unconscious! There's blood all over him!" He paused. "No, I **don't** know where I'm at!" he yelled in panic. He nodded vigorously to whatever was being said on the other line. "Okay, okay. Yes." He searched frantically for the nearest street sign, before rattling it off. Then he exclaimed, "You guys better hurry! I don't know how long he's been here like this!"

* * *

It seemed that all Rukia ever did today was wait. She sighed, rolling her eyes. She propped her chin in her hand and gazed out the window, waving her other hand in distracted dismissal of the annoyingly relentless voices around her. The bell rang to begin class, forcing Ichigo's friends to stop questioning her; she'd already answered their inquiries, anyway. (That boy was such a liar. It was apparently way more suspicious when the two of them **didn't **show up together.) Once everyone was seated, the teacher began to take roll call with her usual comical apathy about absences.

Could it really take that long to grab his badge? Rukia bit her lower lip.

Shortly after first period began, the Shinigami sensed Ichigo's familiar reiatsu flare. She sat bolt upright. It felt murky with distance and obviously being not in Shinigami form, but she still easily recognized when he was in battle.

Her worried gaze met Chad's, Orihime's and Ishida's in quick succession. With a nod from Rukia, all four of them bounded out of their chairs and streaked out the door. Their teacher's shocked protests echoed down the hall to deaf ears.

"I don't sense any Hollows!" Ishida called over their pounding footsteps.

"My phone didn't go off, either!" Rukia exclaimed.

Orihime cried, "So what's going on?"

No one could answer.

They were tearing down the halls, out the door and now down the sidewalk, when they felt Ichigo's reiatsu quiver and dissipate. They scrambled to a halt.

"Kurosaki!"

"Ichigo!"

"Kurosaki-kun!"

"Ichigo!"

As Orihime wrung her hands, Ishida held his breath and concentrated. "No, it's just faint! Like he's passed out."

They all sighed in relief. "Let's go!" yelled Rukia, gesturing.

When they were almost to Ichigo's stationary position, they felt his still-faint reiatsu suddenly begin to speed away. A siren started up, quieting with rapidly growing distance. Alarmed, the group ran faster. The troupe first noticed piercing, swirling lights and the crackle of radios. Rounding a corner, they saw cops swarming around an alley. A man in a tux was speaking to an officer in a high pitch and gesturing wildly. The officer, blank-faced, jotted notes down in a small notebook.

Rukia ran up to the nearest cop and demanded, "What happened? Was Ichigo here?"

Bewildered, the squat, hard-eyed woman blinked. "Who?"

Chad cut across Orihime's stuttered cry with a deep murmur. "He has orange hair."

"Oh! Right!" Her gaze softened. She glanced over them for a second time. "Are you friends of his?"

"**YES!" **they cried in unison.

"He's been taken to the hospital." As they opened their mouths in wide-eyed anxiety, she held up a hand. "Don't worry. They'll take good care of him." She eyed their school uniforms. "That said, you shouldn't be cutting class. But in this case..." She shrugged and turned away.

"Wait!" Orihime held out a hand. "Which hospital?"

The woman turned and answered, "Uh... the one run by... Ishida Ryuken, I think. I don't remember what it's really called." She blushed slightly and hurried off.

* * *

Pain ground throughout his whole body. His left shoulder pounded with it. Exhaustion tugged him down, even as he blinked open heavy lids.

An overwhelming, bright white stabbed through his eyes and into his skull. He immediately squeezed his brown orbs shut and groaned.

Voices cried his name in a jumble of anxiety and relief.

He moaned again, tossing his head. "Wha…" he mumbled. "Where?" His brain felt stuffed with cotton.

Ichigo could hear the relief in Rukia's voice as she answered, "You're at the hospital, you fool." Then to herself, "If I'd just gone back with you…"

Cautiously his eyes slit open again. He blinked and squinted, murmuring, "Not your fault."

Ishida huffed and half-mocked, "So, Kurosaki, how'd you manage to get yourself all beat up?"

Ichigo glared at him and didn't reply. He slowly levered himself upright with the aid of his right hand on the bed. He closed his eyes briefly against dizzying vertigo. Orihime hovered closer. "Kurosaki-kun, be careful! I haven't healed you yet!"

This gave Ichigo pause. He glanced around the room and down at the sling immobilizing his left arm. "Yeah," he muttered thoughtfully. "This is the first time in a long time that I've actually been in the hospital…" He locked eyes with Chad and grinned – the last time had been after a fistfight with the giant at his side. Chad smiled a little back.

Ishida explained, "It's better if we get you out of here before she heals you. Wouldn't want the doctors to ask too many questions about a sudden recovery." He added in an undertone, "Ryuken's going to give me hell about this anyway…" Glaring at the injured teen, he muttered, "Baka Shinigami."

Ichigo chose to ignore that, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "All right, then. Let's get out of here." Rukia reached out to steady him. He yanked his right arm out of her grasp and scowled. Just as he managed to waver onto his feet, the doctor entered the room. (A/N: Don't tell Ichigo that I said he "wavered." He'd kill me.)

"Oi, what are you doing?" the aging man cried. He pointed. "Get back into bed!"

Ichigo waved a dismissive hand. "It's fine, jii-san. I'm leaving."

"No, you're not!" the doctor cried. "You have a dislocated shoulder and a concussion, not to mention multiple contusions and bruises. You're not leaving unless I discharge you, which I won't!"

Ichigo rolled his eyes, meeting gazes with Ishida. He lifted his eyebrows as if to say, _Help me out here, will you?_

Ishida sighed. "Kato-sensei, trust me, he's leaving whether you like it or not. You might as well sign the discharge papers."

The poor old man looked even more flustered at seeing the son of the hospital owner in the room, telling him to do something against all his training and common sense. He frowned, then ran his appraising eyes up and down the injured teen before finally locking onto Ichigo's stubborn face. He'd seen a lot of stubborn expressions in his time, but this one took the cake. He threw up his hands. "Ah, fine." He shook a finger. "But you'd better not come back here to me after you screw up your arm."

* * *

Ichigo staggered out the front door of the hospital, still on his own two feet. The wall to his left, though, gleamed invitingly. He leaned his back against it and let his legs slide out from beneath him. "Okay, Inoue," he breathed, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes.

Rukia glanced around. She asked in disbelief, "Here?"

Orihime hurriedly kneeled at his side. "Soten Kisshun. I reject."

Rukia threw up her hands, thinking, _Well, there really aren't __**that**__ many people around, I guess…_

Golden light enveloped Ichigo. He sighed in relief and pleasure. A few moments passed in silence before Rukia inquired, "So, Ichigo, tell us. What happened?"

He gazed into Rukia's and Orihime's faces, and then up at Chad's and Ishida's. He grimaced and reluctantly recounted his tale without meeting any of their eyes.

By the time he was done, Ishida was laughing at him. "You were beat up by **humans?" **He tried to choke back his laughter at the violent look on Ichigo's face, but he couldn't. He threw his arms out dramatically, barely managing to get out the words, "Kurosaki, the great Shinigami-daiko, defeated! Not by Shinigami, not by Arrancar, but by humans!" His voice trailed anyway into peals of hilarity.

Ichigo surged up against Orihime's healing shield. He pounded on it, yelling, "Inoue, let me out! Let me get my hands on him!"

"Kurosaki-kun…" she lightly scolded.

Rukia's face twisted. She bit her lower lip to try to hold in the laugh, but it escaped in small squeaks. Finally, she couldn't hold it in any longer.

Ichigo leaned back against the wall and glared at them all. "It's not funny."

Even Chad slowly began to smile.

"Oh, go ahead, laugh it up!" Healed enough by now to do so, Ichigo crossed his arms. "Yeah, it's just **hysterical! ** Why don't you tell everyone else? Then they can join you," he snapped sarcastically.

As Rukia's expression lit up, Ichigo seemed to realize what he'd just said. "No, I didn't mean it! Rukia, don't you **dare!"**

**

* * *

**1 McKay, Claude. "If We Must Die." _Literature: The Human Experience_. Ed. Richard Abcarian and Marvin Klotz. 9th ed. N.p.: Bedford/ St. Martin's, 2006. 487. Print.


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